Shh! A Slightly More Serious Sequel!
by Samalander
Summary: Draco would do anything to have Kiyoshi back. Instead, he gets Nuncio (who's a few cards short of a deck) and two bodyguards pretending to be third-years. And then there's Kai... Flames. I love 'em.
1. Somehow, Someday

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SAMALANDER'S BOOK OF NOTHING AND EVERYTHING PRESENTS:

__

Shh! A Slightly More Serious Sequel.

Author's note thingie: I own everything. Bwa ha ha. You own nothing. Bwa ha ha. 

Actual author's note thingie: Kiyoshi, Nuncio, Wolf, "William", "Kenneth", and Kai all belong to me. Bwa ha ha.

**__**

Chapter One: Somehow, Someday

It was October, and Draco was at home in his room, staring out the window at the pouring rain. A bottle of pills and a glass of water sat on a tray on his night stand; for him, he knew. He would not take them. How, when none of the other medications had worked, could these be so special? Draco knew, _knew_ that taking a pill with a fancy-sounding name would not bring Kiyoshi back to him. 

The rain was soothing, somehow.

It had been December, he decided, when Kiyoshi had left. November when he'd arrived. The boy had only stayed two weeks; now, almost a year later, Draco could still feel Kiyoshi's breath on his cheek. He could still see the reflection of their love in his eyes. He felt as if there were a yawning, aching hole inside of him, one that only Kiyoshi could fill.

When he'd found that he was unable to describe how he felt, shortly after Kiyoshi had left with his Guardian, Draco had ceased to talk altogether. He found the sound of his own voice grating, too loud, too ugly a sound for him to want to think that it came from him. He began to understand why Kiyoshi had never said a word during his stay at Hogwarts; and when he did need to speak, he did it with Draco's voice.

_ I want to be as powerful as Kiyoshi was,_ Draco thought, pressing his hand, hot with fever, against the chilled glass. His fingers left a steamy imprint. _I want to be worthy of him. Maybe—maybe then he'll come back to me._ A lump formed in his throat, and he coughed. 

Immediately, his door opened and his mother rushed in, hope shining in her eyes. "Draco?"

Draco turned to look at her, silent. His mother's eyes flicked to the bottle of pills and the untouched glass of water. Her face fell. _"Draco," _She pleaded, moving to his side and wrapping him in her arms, "Please, why are you doing this? If you miss much more school, I'm afraid they might not let you back in. Can't you say _something?_ Can't you talk to the psychiatrist about what happened to you—whatever it was?"

Draco pushed her away and returned to the window. His mother stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. "They said if the pills don't work, then they're going to try shocks," His mother said softly. "They said that it's worked on—on other boys with your same problem. Then you can go back to school, back to your friends."

_Kiyoshi was my only friend,_ Draco thought bitterly. He concentrated on the rain pattering against the window. _Mother doesn't understand. She wouldn't. No one understood._

"Tomorrow, you have another appointment at the hospital."

_No one but him._

****

(Important Author's update thingie: In response to a request from a very persistent Harry Potter fan, I will be working on an alternate ending for _Shh! A Harry Potter Fic._ The events in this fic will proceed as if this (yet unwritten) ending had taken place. Sigh…)


	2. Shocks and the Dreams

**__**

Chapter Two: Shocks and the Dreams

Draco stared passively at the psychiatrist, who was tapping his pen against a clipboard covered with notes. "So, Draco, how is that new medication working out for you? Do you think you're ready to go back and see your friends?"

Draco shifted on the couch, which was so soft that it seemed to be sucking him in. He looked out the window at the rain. The psychiatrist sighed heavily. "Doesn't your education matter to you? Don't you want to make your parents proud?"

_As if a muggle would know anything about my education, _Draco thought, and almost smiled. Almost. "Your… _Parents _told me that the last thing you said to them was something about a… Boy?" Draco returned his gaze to the psychiatrist. "Who was this boy?

Draco continued to stare hard at the psychiatrist, feeling almost angry. Kiyoshi was not a _boy._ Kiyoshi was his _friend._

"How did this boy make you feel? Angry? Afraid? What did he do to you?"

_I don't know, _Draco wanted to scream. _I don't know what he did to me, how he made me feel. All I know is that I want him to do it all over again. _He closed his eyes for a moment, to clear his thoughts, and when he opened them again, the psychiatrist was scribbling something down on the clipboard. 

"Draco, I really think we're making progress," The psychiatrist said, standing up and holding his clipboard against his chest. "I'm going to prescribe shock treatment. It's nothing to be afraid of, Draco, and I think it will help you. With that and a little more therapy, you'll be back in school in no time. Doesn't that sound exciting to you?"

****

**

As he rode downstairs in the elevator, his mother patted Draco on the shoulder and smiled gently, a habit she'd picked up since they'd taken him out of school. Pat, smile. 

"The doctor said you're making progress," His mother said, releasing his shoulder and fussing nervously with her hair. "Wait until your father hears. He'll be so pleased."

Draco, as usual, made no comment. _Pleased_ was not a word one would use to describe his father. Especially not since Draco had stopped talking; Lucius wanted nothing to do with his son after he'd found that he didn't respond to threats and verbal abuse. Draco thought privately that his silence intimidated his father, finally faced with something he couldn't bark down. The thought made him feel powerful. He wished fervently that Kiyoshi could see him now, able to stand up to his father after years of submission. And all he'd had to do was shut up.

His mother sighed, sounding mournful. Draco looked at her. She smiled at him and patted his shoulder. Pat, smile. Pat, smile. Pretend like everything's okay.

During the ride home, Draco's mother turned to him and asked, "Would you like to eat dinner with your father and I tonight? After all, the doctor did say that you were much improved, and it would be… nice to have you at the table again."

Draco continued to stare out the window. His mother reached over and touched his hair, rather startling him and causing him to jump and whirl to face her. They made real, solid eye contact, frozen for a moment before Draco turned away again. His mother made a small sound in her throat, then leaned forward and ordered the driver to hurry towards home.

****

**

Lucius Malfoy was far from _pleased_ when Narcissa asked for an extra place to be set for Draco that evening. 

"I thought he was taking meals in his room," Lucius growled, glaring at Draco, who stared blankly back.

Narcissa wrung her hands, looking from her husband to her son. "His doctor said that he was doing much better today, I thought—"

"Has he said anything?" Lucius demanded, too loudly, too quickly.

Narcissa wilted. "No, he hasn't, but he—he looked at me. _Really_ looked at me. In the car, on the way home."

"Oh, he _looked _at you." Lucius turned on Draco and pointed to the stairs. "Unless you've got something to say to me, get out of my sight."

Draco stared, silent.

"Well?" Lucius' eyes were wild.

Narcissa moved to her son's side, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Lucius, if you keep on like that, he may never—"

_"I hate you!"_ Draco screamed.

Lucius bridled. "What!"

"I _hate_ you!" Draco spun out of his mother's grip. _"None _of you could ever _hope_ to understand! You think pills and doctors are going to bring Kiyoshi back?! You think that I _like _being poked and prodded and examined?!"

"Get out!" Lucius roared, grabbing Draco by the wrist and flinging him towards the stairs. He crashed into the banister, causing the wood to crack and the rail to creak ominously. "Get up there and don't come down again! Go on and _die_ up there!"

Draco bolted up the stairs, half afraid that his father was going to come after him. He stopped only when he was safe inside his room, the door latched and the curtains drawn. He slumped down on his bed, pulled up his sleeve, and inspected a large red mark on his arm that would likely be black by morning.

There was something that had been released—that had been broken up when Draco had finally spoken to his father. A congestion in his chest had vanished, and despite the trouble he knew he'd be in when morning came, his heart felt light and unencumbered. 

Snuggled beneath his down-filled comforter, Draco could faintly hear his parents arguing downstairs. A few drops of rain pattered on his window, and thunder rumbled in the distance, sounding like some slumbering beast. There was another boom of thunder, then another, and another, in a succession too steady and too regular to be at all natural.

Draco woke suddenly, glanced at his clock to find that it was close to three in the morning. The too-regular thunder was still sounding, but it was much clearer, much closer now. He realized suddenly that it wasn't thunder at all, but the _clump_ of heavy boots on the stairs outside his room. Draco sat up, heart pounding. Who would be coming up the stairs at three in the morning? Not his father—not only did he lack the build to make that kind of noise while climbing stairs, but he was already home and most likely asleep in his bed. His mother didn't wear boots for any reason. Then who?

The heavy footfalls stopped outside of his door, and there was a tiny pause before his door creaked open. Draco's heart skipped at beat. "Who's there?" He called.

"Lower your voice, please, you'll wake your parents."

"Who's _there?"_ Draco said again, without bothering to be quiet about it. "How did you get in?"

A figure in a long black cloak and exceedingly muddy boots stepped into a sliver of moonlight that spilled from between Draco's drawn curtains. Draco stared. The man in his room seemed familiar, somehow, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. _Who…_

"You're the boy that read my letters—Kiyoshi's friend," The man said. "It's me—Nuncio. I know we've never been properly introduced, but…"

"Nuncio?" Draco was so suddenly filled with hope that he found it hard to speak without his voice cracking. "Then—then Kiyoshi—"

"—Left me about six months ago," Nuncio said regretfully. "I'm sorry that I couldn't have brought him here with me… He really was fond of you."

Draco swallowed. "You don't know where he is?" He asked quietly.

Nuncio came farther into Draco's room, leaving in his wake a trail of dark, wet footprints in the white rug. "No, I don't. He sometimes—" He sighed. "I don't know where he is. But he still—speaks to me, in dreams, in visions sometimes. And he told me that you weren't doing well."

"He _knows?"_ Draco asked incredulously. "Why didn't he—"

"I'm sure he would have come himself if he could have," Nuncio interrupted. "But he obviously couldn't, so you get me instead. I went to that crazy school—Hogwarts—but they said that you'd gone home. When I asked where _home_ was, they directed me here. So here I am."

Draco drew his comforter up around himself, staring at Nuncio. "What do you want?"

"Draco." Nuncio came up to Draco's bedside and knelt. He wore a mask over his face so that only his glinting green eyes showed. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Draco looked away. "I want Kiyoshi back. He was my friend—he was more than a friend."

Nuncio sighed and pulled down his mask to reveal the rest of his face. Draco was surprised to see that despite his world-weary eyes, he was young; he was too old to be attending Hogwarts, certainly, but he wasn't as old as Draco had imagined him to be, under that mask. He'd thought that Kiyoshi's guardian would be someone strong, and wise. A warrior. Thirty or forty, at the very least—closer to his father's age than his own. Nuncio caught him staring and smiled. "I met Kiyoshi about two years ago, while I was running about in France with a bunch of other—other teenagers. I suppose he only stayed with me as long as he did because I was a bit more… Durable than the rest of the available crowd. But even _I_ wasn't enough to satisfy him, and in the end he left me to seek another. Someone fresh."

"I don't understand," Draco whispered. "…Satisfy? Someone fresh?"

Nuncio looked up at Draco, his eyes searching. "I can see why he chose you. But—let me try to explain. What I know about Kiyoshi comes to me in pieces—in dreams. He's…" Here Nuncio paused, looking suddenly anxious. "Kiyoshi is… One part of a whole. He's only half—of a greater being." He shook his head and ran a hand through his chestnut hair, causing the hood of his cloak to fall back on his shoulders. "I know it sounds crazy, and I thought it was, too, at first. And then I started to notice things he did."

Draco just stared, stunned into silence. "Can you imagine what it must be like, missing part of yourself?" Nuncio went on. "Kiyoshi is constantly striving to—to make himself whole again. The problem is, he doesn't know how. He… he _chooses_ people, and tries to—fit with them, to make _them_ fill the gap. He connects—bonds with them. But it never really works. He lets them go after awhile, and finds someone else, always searching for that match."

"Why didn't he let go of me?" Draco asked quietly. "Why is he torturing me? I can't go a minute without thinking about him, and at night he walks in my dreams." He clenched a fist. "I don't know if I love him or hate him—all I know is that I want to see him again."

Nuncio nodded. "When he left me, all those months ago, he didn't let go right away. I just woke up one morning to find him gone. At first I thought he'd been taken, but when I went outside to look for him, a message tore across my brain: _please don't follow me."_ Nuncio winced in memory. "The power and sorrow behind it was so great, I must have blacked out. I woke up a day later in the hospital. Anyway—for days, I raged in my room, tearing everything to pieces. I couldn't accept that he was gone. And then, one evening—_click!_ It just didn't matter anymore. I still missed him, missed those good times, but it wasn't painful anymore. He's still in my dreams sometimes, and two weeks ago, he told me to find you and help you."

"But _why_ hasn't he let me go?" Draco wailed. "It's been almost a _year!"_

Nuncio shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he _is_ going to come back for you." He stood up. "In any case, you should be getting back to sleep. I'll be around to check up on you soon." He leaned forward and kissed Draco's forehead. "Good night."


	3. Out of the Closet

**__**

Chapter Three: Out of the Closet

Draco woke with the sun on his face; someone had opened the curtains. He sat up, groggily rubbing his eyes. His bruised arm ached, and he had a nasty headache. 

"I brought your breakfast, Draco."

Draco gave a violent start and turned towards the door to see his mother standing there with a silver tray. She smiled weakly at him; there was an odd-colored spot on her cheekbone—something Draco had seen too many times before. It was a bruise his mother had tried to cover up with makeup, but the purple-dark still showed through.

"I thought you must be hungry after—after last night," Narcissa went on, moving to his bedside and setting the tray down on the bedspread. "So I brought you some toast, and some orange juice, and—" She paused, her eyes searching. "Draco… Do you really…"

"Good morning, mother," Draco said, reaching for the toast.

Narcissa gasped. "Draco! You—" She stopped as her eyes fell on the dark, muddy footprints leading from the door to his bed. "Oh good Lord."

Draco followed her gaze. "Rather inconsiderate of him, wasn't it?"

"Who was—how—" Narcissa shook her head. "We're going back to the psychiatrist today."

"I don't want to go," Draco said sincerely.

His mother pursed her lips. "Well…"

"I want to go back to school," Draco said suddenly. "Next week."

His mother's eyes lit up, but then she bit her lip. "Draco, do you think you're ready?"

"Of course I'm ready. _More _than ready. I've been gone for a year, mother, I really shouldn't miss any more…" Draco stared at his orange juice and thought of life at the school. It would be worth all the pain of going back if Kiyoshi was somehow there, waiting for him. He felt his mother watching him and looked away. "I feel like I _could_ go back, now."

Narcissa stood, beaming. "Well—if that's what you want, I certainly can't—oh, I must tell your father!" She bustled out.

Draco's toast had suddenly gone tasteless. It grated against his throat as he swallowed. _Kiyoshi,_ he thought. _Where are you? Why won't you come back to me? Do you hate me so much? Or is it…_could Kiyoshi still be running from his enemies—a terrifying, unstoppable force that he had only referred to as _Them?_

"You shouldn't go back to the school," Nuncio said seriously from the foot of his bed. Draco jumped a mile.

"Don't _do_ that," he gasped, one hand over his pounding heart. Then he did a double take. "How _did_ you do that?" He paused. "Oh—you must have Apparated."

Nuncio leaned forward and took a piece of Draco's unfinished toast. "No, I hid in the closet. I've got a lot of experience at sneaking around, and you're so preoccupied all the time that it's easy to sneak up on you."

Draco tried not to sound offended. "Oh." He watched Nuncio eat his toast for a moment, then looked out the window at the sun-bathed countryside. "What did you mean about not going back to school?"

"It isn't safe there." Nuncio sat on his bed, having finished the toast. "Kiyoshi specifically ordered me to keep you _safe._ So I can't let you go."

Draco drew himself up indignantly. "What's so unsafe about it? No one would dare attack me, not with all those wizards around. And what would you do to stop me, anyway?"

"Lots." Nuncio smirked. "I have powers beyond your comprehension. I could kidnap you and drag you off to some remote place and chain you to a palm tree, if I wanted."

"That's not a _power!"_

"That won't stop me from doing it."

Sighing, Draco pushed his breakfast tray aside. He could tell it was useless to argue with Nuncio, so he tried a different tactic. "What about my education? And what if Kiyoshi's there?"

Nuncio's shoulders went rigid. "He isn't. You think I didn't check? Listen, Draco, there are people there that could and _would_ do you harm if they found out you're bonded to Kiyoshi. And even if they didn't, the instant anyone found out, _They_ would know. They would come after you like they came after me. A life on the run, Draco, is that what you want?"

"No," Draco replied softly. "Who at the school would want to kill me?"

"Not kill you," Nuncio corrected. "They wouldn't want to kill you. You're too valuable. They would drag you into some dungeon and torture you until you told them where you've hidden Kiyoshi."

"But I don't know where he _is!"_

"I doubt they'd care."

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "Who, then? If you let me go, I'll keep an eye out for them. Potter's at the school all the time with who knows how many people wanting to kill him, and he's—unfortunately—still alive after all this time."

"Albus Dumbledore, for one," Nuncio replied coolly. Draco's mouth dropped open. "Also, any person there who has a hunger for power—and immortality. In short, you'd have the entire school after you."

Draco sat stunned into silence for a moment before he closed his mouth and swallowed dryly. "You mean—"

"Kiyoshi's power was halved when _he_ was," Nuncio explained, "But he's still like a magic spring, reeking of power. Since you're bonded to him, you share it. And as long as he stays alive, so will you."

Draco didn't have much time to reflect on the novelty of being immortal; he tensed when he heard someone coming up the stairs. He looked to Nuncio, to tell him to hide, but he was already gone. A moment later, Narcissa opened the door to his room and stepped inside. "I've sent an Owl to the school," she said gleefully. "I told them you'll be returning on Monday."

Draco just nodded. Nuncio hadn't yet said that he would let him return to the school yet, but he didn't care. _It'll be alright,_ he thought to reassure himself. _Everything will be fine._


	4. Kai, William and Kenneth

**__**

Chapter Four: Kai, William and Kenneth

Kai stood by Professor Snape's desk, radiating sensuality, as the rest of the students filed out of the drafty classroom. Student and teacher matched gazes while waiting for the last of the students to leave; Snape looking stern and annoyed, Kai's heavy-lidded look lending an air of arrogance to his smooth features, delicate as a woman's. Snape marveled again at his newest, and most troublesome, student. He was in his third year at Hogwarts, even though he was taller and more mature than any of his fellows; he fit in more with the seventh-years. Also, records showed that he had been attending Hogwarts since he was eleven, having come in with the batch of first-years that included Harry Potter—but neither Snape nor any of the other teachers remembered having seen him before. 

And then there was the matter of his attitude.

"You wanted to speak with me?" Kai asked, the tone in his sultry voice making it obvious that he was, for now, only obeying Snape's orders on a whim.

Snape drew himself up, trying to remind himself that _he_ was in power here, no matter how this odd boy's manner intimidated him. "I saw you sabotage Longbottom's project," He said severely. "I am going to have to issue detention and remove points from the Gryffindor dorm. Your disorderly conduct disappoints me, Mister DuLamort." Snape suppressed a shudder at the mention of the boy's unusual family name—one that he knew to mean 'of the dead'. 

Kai smiled at him. "I'm crushed," He said grandly, his smile widening. "Nothing hurts me more than to see the idiots I live with lose at this silly game of yours."

"If that doesn't affect you, I'm sure a week of detention will," Snape ground his teeth silently. "If you keep on like this, you may be expelled."

Flicking his long, green-black hair over his shoulder, Kai gave a snort of amusement. "I seriously doubt it. I would think—" He leaned on Snape's desk, licking his lips in a way that stirred heat in the Professor's body. "—that you should be more afraid of losing your job, Severus."

"It is inappropriate to address me so informally, Mister DuLamort," Snape said, bristling.

Kai huffed and sat on Snape's desk. "But it sounds so much nicer," He ran his tongue over his teeth, as if savoring the taste of the name. "Severusssss." His lips seemed to curve around the sound. Snape swallowed uncomfortably, his voice failing him. "Besides, you've nothing to fear from me. I'm just a student—just a third-year. I'm so _young…"_ Kai flung his head back, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "So what if I call you by your first name? If no one knows…"

Snape stiffened. "I'm—sending you to Dumbledore," He said shakily. "This has gotten out of hand."

"Is it because you're older than me?" Kai asked suddenly. "What about Professors Wolf and McGonagall? They're _decades _apart, and—"

"That's not it—I mean—" Snape stood up. "Get off of the desk; we're going to Dumbledore."

Kai pretended to pout. "I don't like him. He smells like burnt pudding."

"I'm going to have you expelled!" Snape fairly shouted, backing towards the door. Kai slid off of the desk and advanced on him, his green eyes glowing.

_"Are_ you? And then what? The wards around this school aren't enough to keep me out, Severus. I can—and will—come after you." He smirked as Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it at him with a shaking hand. "Oh, you're going to get me with one of your boogedy-boogedy spells. Well, go ahead—_try it."_

Snape opened his mouth, trying to form the words for a spell, but nothing came out. He had backed into the door and was staring down at Kai as he approached, eyes wide. He tried again to cast a spell, again to no avail. "What made you think you could possibly defend yourself against _me?" _Kai laughed. "I, who has lain with the likes of Lord Voldemort? I who have wreaked havoc across Europe for _centuries?"_ He laughed again, his insane cackle trailing off into a hiss, then opened his mouth wide and grabbed Snape by the throat. _Severussssss…_

****

**

Draco hadn't seen Nuncio since he'd forbidden him from returning to Hogwarts. He was a little lonely, but the promise of going to school again was enough to occupy him until Sunday night, when he packed his trunk and laid out his uniform in anticipation of driving to the school the next morning. He was just climbing into bed when he heard his curtains flapping in the breeze from his open window.

"That's strange," Draco mused aloud as he went to shut the window. When he turned around, Nuncio was glaring at him disapprovingly from next to his bed.

"What did I tell you about going back to the school?"

"What did I tell _you_ about sneaking up on me and scaring me half out of my skin?!" Draco huffed indignantly. "And I'm going—tomorrow morning—no matter _what_ you say."

Nuncio shook his head and sighed heavily. "I really didn't want to have to resort to this, but…" He reached into his long black cloak, and Draco stiffened, then relaxed as Nuncio pulled out a blank sheet of parchment and a quill made of polished ebony. "I'm going to have to assign you bodyguards."

"What!" Draco laughed. 

Nuncio pursed his lips as he went to Draco's desk to write. "It isn't a laughing matter. You're lucky that I'm letting you go at all. I was thinking about what you said, though—about your education—and decided it was best if you _did_ return to the school, but only under strict supervision. I would stick out like a sore thumb, but I know of a pair of fellows who would fit right in."

Draco had gone over to stand beside Nuncio and look over his shoulder as he wrote; he was shocked to find that the entire note was written in the same type of foreign characters that Kiyoshi had once shown him embroidered on the front of his tunic. "Who are they?" He asked, trying without success to decipher the odd symbols.

"I can't tell you here," Nuncio replied briskly, folding the parchment up and sealing it with a sticker of a cartoon fairy. "But they'll be at school tomorrow waiting for you. You'll know them from my sign: the Magpie. They'll both be wearing it." He moved to the window and threw it open. His own magpie—which Draco had seen deliver letters to Kiyoshi the previous year—fluttered in and landed on Nuncio's outstretched hand. He stroked it affectionately, then tied the message to one of its legs and pitched it rather violently back out the window.

"Shouldn't you be more gentle with your bird?" Draco asked.

Nuncio shut the window. "Not if I'm in a hurry. He's a bit chatty. Likes to dawdle."

Draco nodded, utterly confused, as Nuncio turned from the window once more. The man favored him with a warm smile. "I think you'll be safe with those fellows I contacted," he said. "And I'll always be close by. Now, into bed with you. You've got a busy day ahead." He patted Draco's hair in a fatherly sort of way, then shut himself into the closet.

Lying in bed that night, Draco decided that Nuncio was the craziest person he'd ever met.

****

**

The trip to Hogwarts was long, but for the most part uneventful. Draco hadn't seen Nuncio that morning and was a little disappointed, but every so often he would look out the window of their car and glimpse his magpie gliding along beside them.

Once at the school, the first place Draco and his mother went was Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster greeted them warmly and welcomed Draco back to the school, but his twinkling eyes were concerned. He suggested that Draco have a day of rest before he returned to his classes, to 'get reacquainted with the school'." He then handed Draco his class schedule with a broad smile and suggested he go to the Slytherin dorm, where his things were already waiting for him.

Narcissa left him at the entrance to the dorm, but not before giving him a hundred instructions to remember his handkerchief and his tissues and to not overexert himself and to remember to send her an Owl once and a while and showering him with kisses. Draco was greatful that all the other students were currently in their classes, so no one witnessed this display of maternal affection. 

His mother left at last, and Draco climbed the stairs up to his room. On his way down the hall, he saw the door to the room that had once been Kiyoshi's, which had been nailed shut. His heart gave a painful jerk, and Draco hurried on, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

He was in his room, unpacking, when a bright, chipper voice called: "Draco Malfoy?"

Draco jerked with surprise and turned around. Standing in the doorway were two of the oddest people he'd ever seen: one of them was lanky and skinny, with very fine, shaggy white hair and wide crimson eyes. He was smiling very widely at Draco. The other was tall and mean-looking, and though he wasn't muscular like Crabbe or Goyle, he had a powerful look to him. He had waist-length green-black hair that was bound up into a braid that he had slung over one shoulder like a scarf. He was wearing a Gryffindor patch.

"Who are _you?"_ Draco demanded, reaching for his wand. "And why aren't you in your classes?"

"Got no classes just now," the white-haired one chirruped again. "We heard about you coming back, and thought we'd come to see you. My name's Ka—" he coughed as his companion elbowed him in the ribs. "Kenneth," he finished with a grin.

"William," the boy with the braid grunted.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I've never seen you before. Are you first-years? And you—" he pointed his wand at William. "You're a _Gryffindor!_ What are you doing here?"

William muttered something that sounded like "Stupid Sorting Hat," while Kenneth stepped further into the room, still radiating cheerfulness.

"William and I are brothers," he explained. "We stick together. No matter what!"

"Why don't I believe you?" Draco asked suspiciously.

Kenneth didn't say anything, but put his hand out in front of him, fingers closed into a fist. One by one, he unfolded his fingers. Tattooed on his palm was a stylized magpie. Draco's eyes widened, and he automatically looked at William, who shifted ever so slightly. Shining underneath his scarf was a bronze medallion in the shape of a magpie.

"Oh," was all Draco could say as he put away his wand.

"Lunch is in a few minutes," Kenneth said as if nothing had happened. "Let's go get a seat, yeah?"

"Yeah," Draco nodded uncertainly, then thought of something. He looked at William. _"He_ won't be able to sit at the Slytherin table, you know."

Kenneth cast a glance over his shoulder at William. "He'll still be able to see you from where he sits," he reassured Draco. "It'll still be safe."

Draco followed them out of the dorm. "When did you two get here?" He asked.

Kenneth giggled. "When? Silly! We're third-years, we've been here since we were eleven."

Looking from the giggling, girlish Kenneth to the tall, mean William, Draco thought privately that anyone who seriously believed these two were only thirteen should have his head examined.


	5. That's What They say

**__**

Chapter Five: That's what They Say

Another author's note thingie: All of the members of the Dark Circle, excluding James Potter, Tom Riddle, the Dementor and the Grim, belong to me. The rest belong to… you know, that one lady. What was her name again?

Somewhere in the night, eleven figures, each carrying a lit torch, stood in a circle in complete silence. The torches burned brightly by themselves but cast no light on their bearers; all was hidden in darkness too thick to be natural. They seemed to be waiting for something.

As though roused by some silent signal, one of the torchbearers spoke. "On this the night of the new moon, the Dark Circle assembles. There are powerful magicks afoot, my friends, and if we are to achieve our goal we must execute each step of our plan flawlessly. All present?"

Another voice spoke. "I am Fortinbras, the Hawk, hunter of men. I serve the Grey."

"I am Koh-uu, the Crow, spinner of magic. I serve the Grey."

"I am Narè, the Dove, singer of tales. I serve the Grey."

The next speaker only made a hissing, rattling sound like the intake of breath, and the speaker after that lifted its voice in a wolf-howl. The speakers continued.

"Ulf, tamer of beasts. I serve the Grey."

"James, the mirror-demon. I serve the Grey."

"Gaijin, weaver of dreams. I serve the Grey."

"Tom, drinker of souls. I serve the Grey."

"Esque, wingèd death. I serve the Grey."

There was a small pause, then: "I am the Grey, keeper of the balance. Let us begin, then. Gaijin, tell me what you have found."

"A dream-scar, O Grey. A wingèd thing." Gaijin's voice was like a child's, smooth and serene. He sounded dreamy, as if he were not firmly anchored in the living world.

"Could it be Nuncio?" It was Esque, sounding hopeful. 

"Perhaps," the Grey mused. "Gaijin?"

"It feels of familiar, O Grey."

Tom sighed. "A dream-scar… from that _thing_ that took him, that made him betray us."

"And now he fears us," James said. "As if he were a mere mortal. It is disgusting."

Esque chuckled. "I don't know. I find his insolence… arousing."

"You find dead _fish_ arousing," Tom snarled.

"Children," the Grey said warningly. The assembled fell silent. "Gaijin, where is this wingèd thing you speak of?"

"The mortal school," Gaijin replied, sounding slightly repulsed. "Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Tom and James said at the same time, sounding shocked. James spoke again quickly, sounding nervous. "Are you… are you sure?"

"I was just there," Tom added scornfully. "Nuncio was no where near."

There was a hiss from the other side of the circle, as in agreement.

"Do you doubt me?" Gaijin asked indignantly.

"Is he alone?" The Grey asked.

"No." Gaijin paused, and his torch guttered. "He is with a boy."

"Curséd water creature!" Koh-uu screamed. "He holds him still! O evil! O injustice!"

"Please, Koh-uu," the Grey said gently. "Go on, Gaijin."

"Thank you, O Grey. Koh-uu, it is not the creature from before. It is a mortal boy." Gaijin had an odd tone in his voice, as if he were smiling to himself.

"Ah," the Grey murmured, sounding perplexed.

"Nuncio has always loved the sins of the flesh," Esque said lustily.

"Do not we all?" Fortinbras chuckled. 

James didn't sound amused. "Nuncio and… a mortal boy? At Hogwarts? You don't think…"

"It is not your son," Gaijin assured him. "It is another."

James sighed with relief, but said no more. One of the torchbearers growled like an animal in the darkness, speech without human words. "Yes, we must go there," the Dove said in a high, musical voice. There was a tinkling of tiny bells. "We must find Nuncio—and the Creature."

"Very wise, Narè." The Grey sounded pleased. "Yes, we will go there. Are there any other issues to discuss?"

Tom cleared his throat. "About… That," he said uncomfortably. "Can we not go to help my Other Half? My future rests with him, and if he dies—"

"Do not fear death, Tom Riddle," the Grey said solemnly. "Fate does as she will. We cannot help your Other Half. Rest assured he will help himself, in time."

"I respect and honor your decision, O Grey," Tom mumbled, sounding crestfallen.

"Then we will move on. Come, children of the Circle."

With the Grey leading the way, the torchbearers moved away, single file, trailing off into the distance. The darkness lifted as they left, and where they had once stood the grass was burned black and the ground carved with evil symbols. _They_ moved slowly towards Hogwarts.


	6. The Thot Plickens

**__**

Chapter Six: The Thot Plickens 

Harry Potter hadn't been having a particularly good year at Hogwarts to begin with; the return of Draco Malfoy made it worse.

On top of being stalked by Sirius Black and run over by the Knight Bus, Harry had to contend with the new boy in the Gryffindor dorm, Kai DuLamort, who followed him like a shadow and kept getting him into trouble. Kai insisted that he meant no harm (though he did so with a coy smile on his lips and a malicious gleam in his eyes), and tried to make it up to him by doing him various 'favors', writing his reports for him and letting him know what others were saying about him when he wasn't around, but it only served to get Harry into even more trouble. After he was called into Professor McGonagall's office about a paper Kai had written for him entitled 'Drug Deals and Brothel Girls: The Nightlife at Hogsmeade', Harry decided enough was enough.

Harry pulled Kai aside as they were going to the library to study one blustery afternoon. The cold wind had put a rosy glow in Kai's cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with cunning. "Did you want to tell me something?" He asked. Harry sighed.

"Listen, Kai, I know you mean well, but I really can't have you hanging around me all the time," Harry told him. "It's—well, it's just not working out."

Kai put on a hurt expression that looked perfectly fake. "Oh, why, Harry? What have I done? Oh, I'm so useless, I can't do anything right."

"It's not that," Harry said quickly. "It's just that…" he did some quick thinking. "It's dangerous to be around me as much as you are. You-know-who is after me, you know."

"I do?" Kai asked innocently.

Harry was confused. "You do what?"

"Know who."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, you do."

Kai blinked. "Who is it?" He giggled. "Is it the tooth faerie?"

"VOLDEMORT, YOU TURKEY!!" Harry shouted. Everyone in the hall stopped to look, mouths agape. Harry cringed. 

Kai smiled. "Oh. Yes, I do know him."

Harry grit his teeth. "I _know_ you're not this stupid on purpose," he hissed. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

Harry made a vague gesture. "This! Following me around, writing insane essays and turning them in in my name, playing like you've just been let out of Bedlam! What have I ever done to you?"

"Nothing," Kai shook his head. "Absolutely nothing. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. But I am _warning_ you, Mister Potter—" he leaned very close, his eyes narrowed angrily, his breath smelling of blood and ash. "You will wish that I hadn't." 

With that, he turned and walked away, shoving people out of the way. Harry stared after him, baffled. He went into the library, but found it hard to study with so many people whispering about the scene in the hallway. Shutting his book angrily, he stood and went back to the Gryffindor dorm.

****

**

Draco was having better luck with William and Kenneth. Despite their odd appearance, people seemed to ignore them completely, even in class. The teachers stared right through them as if they weren't there. It was odd at first, but soon Draco realized that they must have a _dim_ spell, a spell to make them less noticeable. 

He wished he could do the same; since he'd returned, people were always stopping him to ask where he'd been, what had happened to Kiyoshi. They seemed to have _forgotten_ all about the events that had taken place the previous year. Draco didn't see fit to remind them.

Occasionally, Nuncio's magpie would arrive in the middle of the night with a letter from Nuncio, telling him to keep his nose clean; however he hadn't seen the man since that last night at his house. He missed him sorely. Kiyoshi was gone, Crabbe and Goyle had disappeared somewhere (Draco suspected it had something to do with William and Kenneth's presence), and Kenneth didn't have much in the way of conversation, nor could he provide the companionship that Kiyoshi had. Draco applied himself to his studies, trying to shut out the loneliness. 

He'd been excused from the work from the first half of the term, but Draco was finding it difficult to catch up to the other students in his classes, among which was Professor Wolf's Occult Literature. Wolf was beating out Professor Lupin as a favorite teacher, and the two maintained a friendly rivalry. Draco didn't particularly like either of them, but he found himself hating Professor Wolf less. His classes were low-key and usually entertaining; he kept the students alert with a merry prattle of anecdotes and sexual innuendo. He also seemed to know a lot more about black magic than most of the other teachers, excluding Lupin. Once in a while he would surreptitiously slip a darker lesson in with the others, filling them in on things that other teachers edited out.

It was on one of those days when Draco was sitting in Professor Wolf's classroom, William and Kenneth on either side of him. Wolf had drawn a circle on the blackboard, with twelve triangles surrounding it like the numbers on a clock. Below it he wrote, _Myths and Legends Chapter Eight: The Dark Circle._

"Has anyone ever heard of the Dark Circle?" Wolf asked the class. "Anyone? Come on, now, don't be shy. You there, yes." He gestured to a girl in the front row.

"You mean like… Solar eclipses?" The girl said uncertainly.

Wolf smiled and shook his head. "No, afraid not. I'm surprised none of you know about the Circle; it's a very well-known legend." He picked up an old-looking book from his desk and opened it to a bookmark near the middle. "The Dark Circle are, supposedly, a group of twelve immortal mages who maintain balance in the world. They travel under cover of night and stop under the new moon to discuss their plans. They are led by the Grey."

"How do they 'maintain balance'?" It was Hermione in the second row, taking extensive notes despite her obvious hatred of the class. 

"Ah, Hermione, let me clarify. What I mean by balance is, they make sure that there are equal amounts of good and evil in the world. If there is an imbalance, say, when Lord Voldemort was terrorizing the countryside—" several of the students winced. "They fix things, make it so no side has the upper hand."

"You mean to say that it was this 'Circle,' and not Harry, that defeated He-who-must-not-be-named?" Hermione scoffed. "And if they're so balanced, why are they the _Dark_ Circle?"

Wolf shut the book. "Legend has it that the members travel under a cloak of darkness cast by the Grey to keep themselves unknown to mortals," he said patiently. "And it _is_ only a legend, Miss Hermione. I don't have any doubts about your friend Harry's achievements." He turned back to the board. "We're studying the Circle today because they are a popular subject in occult literature. Please turn your books to page two thirty-seven…"

Draco was staring out the window, paying little attention to Wolf's lesson. He was thinking about Kiyoshi, and what he might be doing now. Running? Hiding? Was he safe? He continued to worry until William nudged him and he looked up. "Class is over," he said lowly. "Let's go."

Draco was distracted and anxious about an upcoming Quidditch game against Gryffindor, so he didn't notice until that night how agitated Kenneth was. He'd lost his happy-go-lucky attitude, and seemed to be always glancing around, watching for something. "Kenneth," Draco murmured in the common room that night, "Is there something wrong?"

Kenneth shook himself out of a trance. "Wrong? Oh, no, nothing…" He looked away uneasily. "Okay, something. That lesson today in your Professor Wolf's class… Worries me. But I'm sure it's nothing."

"What about it?" Draco asked curiously. "He gives lessons like that all the time. It's just _literature._ None of it's true."

"The Dark Circle," Kenneth said in the same hushed tone other students used when talking about Voldemort. "They are no legend."

Draco froze. Usually he would pay no mind to the kind of ominous things people said around Hogwarts, but the way Kenneth had said '_They'_ sang a shrill note of alarm in his brain. 

"They…?" Draco's voice was barely above a whisper. "You mean… Them?"

Kenneth nodded with a hunted expression. _"They_ are the Dark Circle. I think it must be a sign that Wolf has chosen now to give a lesson about them… They are on the move once more."

Draco swallowed. The room had gone suddenly cold. "Maybe it's a coincidence. He _did_ say They were a popular subject in literature… I mean, we're not in any danger, right?"

"Not as long as you're with William or me," Kenneth nodded. "Besides, it's my job to worry about these things. You worry about your game this weekend." He sat down in a chair beside the fire and leaned back, closing his eyes. Draco knew this was the only way Kenneth ever 'slept'; he was always awake, always on alert. It made him feel safe. 

Outside in the night, eleven figures moved by torchlight.


	7. Bedmates and Broomsticks

**__**

Chapter Seven: Bedmates and Broomsticks

Things only got worse for Harry as the year dragged on. Kai no longer followed him, but Harry could often see him glaring from the other side of the Gryffindor common room, eyes narrowed in thought. It worried him only a little; Harry'd faced more dangerous foes.

The first sign that Kai was making his move for revenge came only a few hours after their fight in the hallway. As Harry was trudging up to his room after quidditch practice, exhausted and splattered with mud, Hermione confronted him on the stairs. She had the familiar set to her shoulders that meant she wasn't pleased with him.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry said uncertainly. "Is there something the matter?"

"There certainly is," Hermione huffed. She moved a little awkwardly; after falling out of a three-story window the previous year, she was having difficulty moving her left shoulder. Harry watched her as she stepped down the stairs towards him. "What on _earth_ has Kai ever done to you that you had to humiliate him in front of half the school?"

Harry dropped his broomstick. "What has _he_ done to _me?_ Only gotten me a week's worth of detention for all the trouble he got me into! He acts like he's too stupid to realize what he's doing, but he knows perfectly well! He's _trying_ to get me expelled!"

"Harry Potter, how dare you accuse poor, simple Kai DuLamort of something like that!" Hermione shouted. "You should be ashamed! When I came into the dorm after Transfiguration, I found him in the corner, crying his poor broken heart out. All he wanted was to be your friend, Harry! And he tried _so hard._ So what do you do? You call him stupid and yell at him in the middle of a crowded hallway! He was inconsolable. He only just now cried himself to sleep."

"You actually _believe_ all those lies?" Harry said incredulously. "You haven't got enough sense to fill a teaspoon!"

"At least I've got a heart," Hermione said coldly, and stomped up to her room. Harry sighed as she slammed her door. So Kai was trying to turn his friends against him. Harry _knew_ it wouldn't work; Hermione would come to her senses eventually.

But as he passed Kai's closed door on the way to his own room, Harry could hear him sniffling inside, sobbing quietly. Leaning his broomstick against the wall, Harry stopped to listen for a moment, straining his ears.

"Oh, Kai, s'alright, he can be that way sometimes."

"I c-c-can't do _an-nything_ right," Kai sobbed. "I just wanted him to _like _me."

All traces of guilt vanished from Harry's mind. _He's at it again,_ he thought angrily. _Trying to make me look like the bad guy. Well, it's not going to work._

"Shh, there there, Kai, you're _plenty_ likable. Don't cry."

"You're just s-saying that."

"No, really. _I_ like you."

A sniffle. "You do?"

"Of course I do. Come on, give me a smile."

"Thanks, Oliver."

Harry stiffened. _Oliver Wood?_ What was Kai thinking? He wouldn't—but no, there was no matching Harry in quidditch, and Wood was too smart to jeopardize his chance at the quidditch cup by taking on Kai out of pity. With a smirk, Harry grabbed his broomstick and headed to his room. 

****

**

Hermione couldn't sleep, not while she was still so mad at Harry. She decided to go down to the common room to do some extra homework; that usually relaxed her enough to go to sleep.

Yet when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs, a stack of books in her arms, she found she wasn't alone. Sitting in an armchair in front of the fire, reading an enormous old book, was William Fox, a boy in her grade who she'd only started to notice this year. Hermione stood stock-still, hoping William wouldn't notice her as she took in his appearance. The fire cast a golden glow over his smooth features, lighting up his serious eyes. He had his long hair bound in a braid that he slung over his shoulder, and he was brushing his fingers absentmindedly against the tip as he read. Hermione didn't realize that her books had been slipping from her grasp as she stared at him; he looked up with a start as they clattered to the floor.

"Oh! I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you—" Hermione stammered as she knelt and began to quickly gather up her books, but they kept jumping out of her shaking hands. Eventually William came over and picked them up for her, then handed them to her silently. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire, and a lock of his dark hair had come loose from his braid. It curved sensuously under his chin. "I'm sorry, I really am," Hermione said again, lifting her books and standing. "You—you looked so peaceful."

"It's fine," William said shortly, returning to his chair and opening his book once more. 

Hermione found herself blushing, and she pulled up a chair next to his. Up close, he smelled like spearmint. "I—I came down here to study. I've always found it soothing," she said. _God, that sounded stupid._ "What are you doing?"

"Reading," William replied without looking at her.

Hermione giggled shrilly. "Oh! Oh of course you are. I mean, what are you reading?"

William wordlessly stuck a thumb in the pages of the book and showed her the cover. Hermione gasped in delight. It was _Hogwarts: A History. _"Oh, that's one of my favorites!" She exclaimed. "I must have read it hundreds of times."

William looked into her eyes for the first time, genuinely interested. "Have you? I'm trying to learn more about the school. Do you know much?"

"Oh, I know practically _everything,_" she told him. "Ask me anything."

William smiled at her.

****

**

Draco, too, was awake that night, pretending to study while Kenneth kept an eye on him. _Where are you?_ Draco wrote slowly. _I miss you. _

Draco's vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. When he wiped them away, he saw that more writing had appeared on his paper, spidery and elegant: _I am near. I can feel you. _

With a gasp, Draco dropped his pencil. Kenneth looked in his direction, but Draco didn't show him the message. He wanted the conversation to be private. Trying to steady his trembling fingers, Draco wrote: _Please come back._

I am here, was the reply. _I will be with you soon._

Please hurry, Draco wrote quickly. _I want to be with you again. Hurry._

The next message appeared slowly and deliberately, as if it was being written with the utmost care. _Where is Nuncio?_

I don't know, Draco wrote, dismayed. Was that all Kiyoshi wanted?

__

Is he close?

Yes, I think so.

Tomorrow night, came the message, _I will come to you. Wait for me._

I will, Draco wrote so quickly that the words were barely legible. _I love you._

No more words appeared; the messenger was gone. Draco folded the paper carefully and brought it lovingly to his lips. _Tomorrow night, I will come to you. Wait for me._

Wait for me…

****

**

Gaijin stood in the garish yellow light of a streetlamp, brow furrowed in concentration. He looked barely older than twelve, but there was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his innocent appearance. He carried a golden staff that was a foot longer than he was, tipped with a lethal-looking blade in the shape of a crescent moon. He wore blue and white silk robes embroidered with mystical symbols, and his right hand was hidden inside a silk sleeve that reached nearly to the ground. His left hand and arm shone bare in the light. 

The pressure around him seemed to lessen, and Gaijin relaxed with a sigh, shoulders slumping slightly. He flexed his grip on his staff, then looked out into the darkness beyond the circle of yellow light he stood in. "It is done, O Grey."

"Very good, my child. Have you found Nuncio's whereabouts?"

"No my lord, but I will soon. I will see the boy tomorrow night, and search the school for Nuncio." Gaijin frowned slightly. "My lord…"

"Yes, Gaijin?"

Gaijin looked down at the pavement he stood upon. "While seeking out Nuncio's boy, I felt another presence there."

"Whose?" The Grey asked curiously.

"I know not, O Grey. But the pattern was similar to that of the Creature who stole Nuncio from us." Gaijin looked back into the darkness. "Similar, but not exact."

The Grey seemed to ponder this a moment. "Do you think it a threat?"

"No."

"Then we will pay it no mind for now. Come children, we must make haste. Gaijin mustn't miss his… appointment."

The streetlight winked out, plunging Gaijin into darkness.


	8. Love and Hate

**__**

Chapter Eight: Love and Hate.

Hermione yawned widely, blinking at the dying embers of the fire. She had a book in her lap—nothing unusual—and a blanket over her shoulders. It took her a moment to realize that she was in the common room. Shaking her head to clear it, she looked around for William.

He was sitting in a chair opposite her in a position similar to hers, with a book open in his lap. He was slumped over to one side, chin on his fist, fast asleep. He'd unbound his hair, and it spilled like oil over his shoulders and down onto the pages of the book.

Hermione could have sat like that for hours, just watching him sleep, his shoulders moving in shallow breath; however she realized suddenly that it was morning. Still quite early, for the common room was empty except for them, but she'd promised Harry that she'd go to watch his Quidditch match at eleven that morning. She stood up quickly, forgetting the book in her lap. It slid to the floor and slammed shut, causing William to sit up with a start, bleary-eyed.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Hermione said, embarrassed.

William rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair away from his face. Even these simple gestures were graceful and perfect. "Morning already?" He yawned. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep…"

"We're just lucky no one saw us down here," Hermione giggled nervously, having retrieved her book. "There's no telling what they'd say…"

"No telling," William agreed distractedly. He was braiding his hair with quick efficiency. "I am _starving._ Let's go to breakfast."

Hermione was so shocked that he'd asked her, and in such a hurry to agree, that she almost went to the Great Hall with him in only her nightdress. William waited for her with a ghost of a smile on his face as she ran upstairs to change.

****

**

Harry burst into the Great Hall, holding his Quidditch robes under one arm and panting. "I'm sorry," he gasped to the Gryffindor team, who'd assembled for breakfast before their match. "I overslept—"

"That's all right," Wood said cheerfully, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "I don't think we'll be needing you today anyway."

"Oh," Harry nodded, sitting down. "Well that's—_what?"_

Wood downed his orange juice and smiled at Harry. "I thought you'd be needing a break, so we've got ourselves a new seeker. You'll only have to play reserve."

Harry stared at Wood, unable to say anything, his mouth hanging open. He next voice he heard made his blood freeze in his veins. "You look like a fish out of water with your mouth hanging open like that."

Slowly, dreading what he knew was there, Harry turned in the direction of the speaker. Kai was sitting between Fred and George Weasley, picking daintily at his food. There was a broomstick leaning against the back of his chair, gleaming with new polish. Written in gold letters along the handle were the words _Faster Than Yours._

"You…" Harry began. His throat had gone dry. Swallowing, he tried again. "You took on… _Kai… _as our new seeker?"

"He's got talent, and he's a genius at strategy," Wood said excitedly. "And he's fast as the south wind on that broom of his. It's a Japanese import—fastest broom on the market."

Harry felt a knot form in his stomach. "You can't replace me," he said lowly. "You just… _can't."_

"I didn't want to, but…" Wood spread his hands and shrugged. "What with all the accidents that happened last year, and the year before that… You're a good player, Harry, you really are, but it's just not _worth_ it to risk the cup every year because you've got half the world after you all the time."

Kai cleared his throat. "Wood hasn't gotten the chance to order me any Quidditch robes," he said timidly. "So, if you wouldn't mind, Harry…"

"Just until he gets his own, Harry, there's a good sport," Wood smiled, reaching across the table and taking Harry's bundled up robes. "Don't let it get you down. You're still reserve!"

Harry stood up very quickly, knocking his chair over in the process. He stared at Wood, and at the rest of the team, but he couldn't really see them. All he could see was Kai, smiling at him sympathetically. "I'll tell you how it goes, Harry," he offered, just as Harry stormed out of the Hall.

****

((I know this chapter's kinda short, and I'll probably extend it later. But right now I'm cold and wet and my socks are soggy and I need reviews to make it better. Update time!))


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